


Silence

by blorkingelle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blorkingelle/pseuds/blorkingelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Arthur waited until Eames was a few steps in front of him before snatching a box of Frosted Flakes from the shelf and shoving it into the cart, artfully hiding it under the industrial-sized bag of steel cut oats.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'lost scene' prompt at 64damn_prompts. I fully admit I cheated with this one. This is a spiritual sequel to my earlier drabble [The Master Key](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3733888). But it can definitely be read as a stand-alone.

Arthur waited until Eames was a few steps in front of him before snatching a box of Frosted Flakes from the shelf and shoving it into the cart, artfully hiding it under the industrial-sized bag of steel cut oats.

“They’re on special, can you believe it?” Eames walked over, cradling six cans of salt-free baked beans in his arms.  “Three for a dollar.  That’s _value_.”

“All that value, absolutely no flavor. What a bargain,” Arthur replied, dryly.

“Your palate hasn’t adjusted yet. Dare I say, it’s as stubborn as the rest of you?” Eames grinned.

Arthur replied with a teeth-baring grin and a steel glare.

 “That’s very unsettling, darling,” Eames said blithely, depositing the cans into the cart before darting off when he spotted a display announcing “Buy 2 bags, Get 1 free!” of what looked to be brown rice.

Arthur kept grinning. It was starting to hurt. Eames picked up a bag of red lentils on the way to the rice.  Arthur jogged over to grab a box of pop tarts and stowed them beside the Frosted Flakes.

Two months. 

It had been two months since Eames came home from a particularly gruelling physical therapy session, stomped past Arthur, and slammed the bathroom door shut.  Two months since Eames had thrown open the bathroom door to tear apart their kitchen and announced that anything white, sugary or salty had to go.

 _Three_ months ago since Arthur held Eames’ head, waiting for an ambulance, unable to look to where Ariadne's hands were pressed firmly over the bullet wound that was determinedly trying to take the one thing Arthur had already taken for himself. The bullet did not have the _right_.

It was something they didn’t talk about. Not in the time after, when Arthur’s days were nothing but being in the hospital, helping Eames to the bathroom, to the bed, to the bathroom again to clean up the mess of vomit when Eames had a bad reaction to the antibiotics.

They didn’t talk about it the first night Eames came home either, when they got to sleep in their own bed again. Not while they could lie beside each other and run gentle fingers over cheeks and lips and collarbones and ribs. Tiny, affirming touches in the quiet darkness, proclaiming they were there and they were _theirs_ , and a hot lump of metal couldn’t take it all away from them.

They didn’t talk about it.

Arthur _couldn’t_ talk about it.

“Look, I know what you are going to say but—“, Arthur was thrown out of this thoughts as Eames sidled up to him, now pushing a cart of his own, containing nine bags of brown rice, a bag of lentils and four containers of something that looked like wood shavings. “—I have so many recipes I can use, and I can make you that salmon sushi you love.  I swear it will taste better with brown rice,” Eames finished.

Arthur stared at Eames, reached over without breaking eye contact, grabbed another box of Frosted Flakes, threw it on top of the oats and cocked his eyebrow.

It was another thing they didn’t talk about.


End file.
